CHEWTON-ABBOT.
IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CONCLUSION.
Frank laughed at the idea of Mrs Abbot kneeling at his feet; and had not the least intention of sending Millicent’s address.
He saw little of any one for the next few days except Millicent. His poor friend Mr John Jones called several times, but each time found him absent.
‘Your master is neglecting his business,’ he said sternly to Frank’s small clerk.
‘Got something pleasanter to attend to,’ said the youth with a wink. He was a sharp lad, and able to form his own opinions.
One day towards the end of the week, Mr Jones did succeed in catching his young friend, and, moreover, in smoking the whole of a long cigar in his society. ‘Look here, Abbot,’ he said, ‘what’s up with you? Are you going to be married?’
‘Yes,’ said Frank; ‘I am.’
‘Thought so,’ said Mr Jones. ‘When?’
‘Next Tuesday,’ answered Frank as laconically as his strange friend.
‘Girl got money?’
‘No; poorer than I am.’
‘That’s bad. Tell me all about it.’
Every man in Frank’s plight likes a friend to unburden his heart to; so Mr Jones had the whole history of his love affair, from the moment his mother intervened down to the present happy time. Frank waxed so eloquent, that his friend’s eyes glistened, and when the history was finished, he grasped the young man’s hand, and wished him good wishes which were certainly heartfelt.
‘I have a favour to ask,’ he said, in a very humble way, quite different from his usual energetic style of talking. ‘I haven’t known you long, so it’s presumption on my part. But I’ve grown very fond of you. May I come to the church and see you married?’
‘You may be best-man, if you like; or you can give the bride away. It will save us having recourse to the sexton.—Only on one condition, though,’ continued Frank, struck by a sudden thought; ‘that is, you don’t go making absurd presents.’
‘I must give you something.’
‘Give me a box of cigars, then.’
‘Very well,’ said Mr Jones. ‘But you’re disgustingly proud.’
So it was settled. To Frank’s great relief—for he disliked paining the man by refusing anything—Mr Jones brought him a box of his big cigars, and on the Tuesday morning accompanied him to the quiet town church, where in due time Millicent appeared, accompanied by her distant relative. Mr John Jones acted in his twofold capacity with great decorum. Frank had laughingly told Millicent of the strange arrangement he had made. She raised no objection. ‘What does it matter,’ she said, ‘so long as we are really married?’ So, when the clergyman asked who gave this woman, &c., Mr Jones stepped forward and performed the office. When the ceremony was over, and the happy pair stepping into the carriage, thinking, no doubt, his services entitled him to some reward, he kissed the bride on her forehead—a proceeding which rather staggered Frank, although, as Millicent did not seem annoyed, he said nothing.
‘That old Jones is a strange fellow,’ he said, as Millicent and he were safely ensconced in the brougham.
‘Yes. How long have you known him?’
‘Only a week or two—quite a chance acquaintance.’
‘Chance acquaintances are not to be depended upon,’ said Mrs Frank Abbot sententiously.
Then, as was but natural, they talked of other things, and dismissed Mr John Jones from their happy minds.
During the last week, they had held many debates as to where they should spend the honeymoon. As yet, they had only partially settled the important point. By Millicent’s express wish, the first week was to be passed at Clifton. ‘Dear old Clifton!’ she said. ‘We met there first; remember that, sir!’ Frank did not particularly want to go to Clifton, but he yielded without a murmur. Whether it should be Switzerland, Italy, France, Scotland, or Ireland afterwards, was to be decided at their leisure. So the brougham drove to Paddington, and Mr and Mrs Frank Abbot took the train for the west.
They spent five happy days at Clifton; although they knew the scenery by heart, it looked more beautiful than ever under the present auspices. Then Frank began to talk about going elsewhere; but Millicent seemed in no hurry to make a move. ‘I wonder, Frank,’ she said one evening, ‘you don’t go over and have a look at your old home.’
‘I haven’t the heart to go,’ sighed Frank. ‘I might have gone by myself; but I can’t stand it with you. I shall be thinking all the while how you would have graced it.’
‘Who lives there now?’
‘A Mr Tompkinson—a London merchant.’
‘I should so like to see the place, Frank! Do take me to-morrow.’
Frank, who, in truth, was longing to have a look at the old place, consented. They decided to go the next day. ‘We will have a carriage, and drive,’ said Frank.
‘What extravagance!’ said Millicent.
‘Never mind. I shall only be married once. When our honeymoon is over, we will go in for strict economy.’
Millicent agreed to this. So a carriage was hired the next morning, and they started for Frank’s ancestral home.
It was a lovely September morning; the air was fresh and exhilarating. As soon as the dark dusty city was left behind, Millicent’s spirits rose to a mad pitch, which Frank, with all his newly married adoration, fancied was not quite in keeping with what was to him at least a sort of solemn pilgrimage. She caught hold of his hands and squeezed them, she laughed and talked; in fact, generally misconducted herself. Frank had never seen her in such a mood before. He was fain to believe that she was forcing her merriment, to show him how little she cared for the loss of the wealth she would have shared. Nevertheless, as each landmark came in sight, and at last he knew that he was passing through lands which one day should have been his, he grew gloomy, moody, and miserable. Millicent saw what passed through his mind; she sank into silence; an occasional pressure of the hand only reminding him that at least he had her.
Presently he stopped the carriage. ‘You can get the best view of the dear old house from here,’ he said.
‘Let us get out,’ said his wife.
They alighted, and for some minutes stood looking at the long gray house. Frank’s eyes were full of tears.
‘Can’t we go over the house?’ asked Millicent.
‘By permission of Mr Tompkinson, no doubt; but he is a stranger to me, so I don’t care to ask it.’
‘But I want to see the inside so much, Frank; you have described it to me so often. Let us go up and ask if we can go over it.’
The idea of asking leave to go over Chewton Hall was more than Frank could bear. ‘I would much rather not,’ he said.
‘But I want to go, Frank,’ said Millicent, pouting. ‘No one will know us, so what does it matter?’
Frank still shook his head and raised objections. If there was one thing above another he hated, it was asking favours of strangers. Chewton Hall was not a show-place. It boasted no specimens of interesting architecture; it possessed no gallery of paintings. As likely as not, when they reached the door and preferred their request, some flunky of this fellow Tompkinson’s would order them off the grounds. In short, sorry as he was to disappoint his wife, Mr Abbot firmly refused to ask leave to go over the Hall. Thereupon he discovered that he had married a young woman who had no intention of giving him abject obedience.
‘It’s very unkind of you,’ she said. ‘I will go over the place. If you won’t come, I shall go alone.’ She turned away, pushed the lodge-gate open in a most unceremonious way, and was twenty yards up the drive before her husband had recovered from his surprise. At first, he resolved to leave her to her fate; but that seemed an unkind thing to do. After all, she wanted to look over his old home solely for love of him. He could not let her go alone; besides, as he was hesitating, she turned and beckoned to him. So he walked after her.
As soon as Millicent had satisfied herself that her husband was following her, she quickened her pace to such an extent, that without actually running, he could not overtake her. Arguing that a man’s running after a woman up a stranger’s carriage-drive was not a dignified preparation to asking a favour, Frank followed his wife at a reasonable pace; and when he came up to her, found her standing at the door of the Hall in conversation with an elderly woman, who was evidently a housekeeper. Frank thought this good woman eyed him very curiously and suspiciously.
‘It’s all right, Frank,’ said Millicent, turning her smiling face to him. ‘We may go over the Hall. Mr Tompkinson is not here at present.’
‘Please, walk in,’ said the housekeeper, dropping a courtesy.
Millicent did so; and Frank followed her, sulkily. He did not approve of the proceedings. As his wife had forced him to the house, he had determined to send his card up to Mr Tompkinson, trusting that his former connection with the place would excuse the liberty he was taking. But he did not like this going behind the man’s back, and felt sure that Millicent had been smoothing the way with a bribe.
‘That’s the drawing-room—the dining-room—library—billiard-room,’ said the housekeeper, jerking her finger at the doors in succession. ‘Please, walk through them; and ring when you’d like to go up-stairs and see the view.’
Therewith the woman vanished, after giving Millicent a knowing look, which Frank felt sure spoke of wholesale bribery.
‘I say, Millicent,’ said Frank, ‘we can’t go walking about a man’s house alone, in this fashion.’
‘My dear,’ said Millicent very seriously, ‘I pledged my honour we would pocket nothing.’ Then she broke into an hysterical little laugh; and Frank wondered what had come to his wife.
‘Let us go to the drawing-room first,’ she said, recovering her gravity, and opening the door pointed out by the housekeeper.
Frank passed through the doorway, and for a moment could think of nothing but how he should keep himself from quite breaking down. The room looked almost the same as when he last entered it—the same as he had known it from his earliest days. Every chair and table the same, or apparently so. Then he remembered that the purchaser of the house had also bought nearly all the household furniture. At the time, he was glad to think the old place would not be dismantled; now he regretted it had not been. The presence of the well-remembered Lares and Penates left the old home unchanged in all—save that it was no longer his home. There was the very stool on which as a boy he used to sit at his mother’s feet; there was the wonderful Japanese cabinet, with dozens of little lackered drawers, which used to be opened now and again as a great treat to him. And here was he standing in the middle of these old household gods, by permission of another man’s servant. He wished he had been firm, and not yielded to Millicent’s whim.
His heart was too full for words. He turned away from his wife, who was watching him earnestly, turned away, not willing she should see how much he was affected. He opened the door of the conservatory and passed out among the flowers. Even the flowers looked the same. The red stars of taxonia shone from the green clouds above as of old. The large heliotrope against the wall was in full blossom. The great centre tree-palm was still there. The fountain played as of old, and splashed down on the goldfish swimming in the basin. How well he remembered when his great delight was to be lifted up to look at those red and white carp! He could stand these memories no longer. Let him go away—out of the house—never to come near it again. He went back to the room to find Millicent. The room was untenanted. He supposed his wife, taking advantage of the accorded permission, had extended her researches. He looked in the dining-room. As the old family portraits had been bought by his own people, this room did not appeal to him so much. He glanced round; Millicent was not there. He walked across the hall and opened the library door. He did not notice whether this room was changed or not. He had eyes for one thing only, and, perhaps, a more astonishing sight was never seen by a six days’ bridegroom. Here was Millicent—his wife, her hat and mantle thrown off, absolutely sitting on the knee of a gentleman; moreover, with her arms twined round his neck, her cheek resting against his, and so concealing his features from her outraged husband, who no doubt would have rushed to immolate his supposed rival, had not Millicent, without changing her position, looked at him with eyes so full of love, tenderness, and triumph, that Frank Abbot stood rooted to the ground, and wondered why he should be dreaming in broad daylight. Then he grew very pale, all sorts of wild things rushing into his head. He managed to take a step or two forward; and Millicent jumping off her human perch, rushed to meet him, threw her arms round his neck, sobbed and laughed, and all the while ejaculated: ‘My darling—my darling! My own love! To think it should be through me! My own dear husband!’
She kissed him and embraced him in so fervent a manner, that his attention could scarcely be given elsewhere; but the impression grew upon him that over her shoulder, sitting in the chair from which she had sprung, was his chance acquaintance, Mr John Jones.
‘What—does—it all mean?’ gasped Mr Abbot, as his wife subsided on his shoulder.—‘Mr Jones, you here! What does it mean?’
Mr Jones rose from his chair and held out his hand. ‘Shake hands, Frank,’ he said. ‘It means this. I told you you’d have to take something from me, proud as you were. You’ve taken my daughter, at anyrate.’
‘But’——
‘Yes; I know. I’m Keene, not Jones. That girl of mine is a romantic, obstinate child. I’m an old fool, and ought to be ashamed of myself; but it did me good to find she was going to marry a man who thought she hadn’t a penny-piece to her name. Shake hands, Frank.’
‘But—here!’ ejaculated Frank.
‘Yes, here. In my house; or rather, in yours and Millicent’s. The truth is, when we landed in England, the first paper Milly saw held an advertisement, saying this place was for sale. She made me go the next day and buy it, stock, lock, and barrel. Now you know all.’
‘O Frank!’ interposed Millicent, ‘forgive me—I had been in England four months before I wrote to you! Do forgive me, Frank! They were very long months.’
As Frank gave her a passionate kiss, she supposed herself forgiven. Mr Keene drew out his cigar-case.
‘Now all’s settled,’ he said, ‘I’ll send and tell your carriage to go back. You can drive into Clifton this evening and fetch your luggage.’
‘Stop a moment!’ said Frank. ‘Mr Keene, I am too bewildered to say all I want to; but it must be clearly understood that I am not going to be a dependent on your bounty.’
‘I always told you, you were absurdly proud,’ growled Mr Keene.
‘I will not. Had I known that you had purchased my father’s estate, I could not have married Millicent. I would not have let the world call me a fortune-hunter.’
Mrs Frank Abbot glanced at her father. ‘I told you what he was, papa,’ she said. Then turning to Frank: ‘Will you kindly look at me, sir, and tell me how I have changed so greatly that people will think I am only worth marrying for my money?’
To this challenge Frank made no reply, in words. Then he took his wife’s hand. ‘Millicent,’ he said, ‘shall it be clearly understood that you are the wife of a poor man—that you will be happy when I ask you to leave this and come to London with me, while I work at my profession as before?’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ growled Mr Keene. But Millicent looked into her husband’s face and whispered: ‘My darling love, your wishes shall be mine!’
Then Mr Keene went out and sent the carriage away.
It is a great temptation to describe the meeting between Mrs Abbot and her daughter-in-law. The elder lady’s surprise and joy simply beggar description. Loving her son as she really did, the reversionary restoration was as much a satisfaction to her as if her own husband had been reinstated. The meeting between the two ladies was embarrassing for both to look forward to; but it went off to perfection. Mrs Abbot, all smiles and sweetness, embraced her daughter-in-law, and said: ‘My dear, I told you that under other circumstances we should be great friends. We shall be so now—shall we not?’ It was a graceful, if not an unworldly apology; and as Millicent returned her kiss and begged her to forget what had happened, Mrs Abbot hung round the girl’s neck a diamond cross, which, being her own personal property, had survived the wreck; and after this, a peace was established which as yet has not been broken.
Did Frank Abbot continue to work as hard at his profession as he had resolved to do? The events above recorded are of comparatively recent date. So I can say with truth that he is still a working member of the bar, and is supposed to be making a fair income. As Mr Keene had not the least intention of allowing his daughter to go empty-handed to a husband, however quixotic he might be, the young couple have always been far away from the poverty which one of them was continually harping upon. The last I heard about them is that Mr Keene, who, since his daughter’s marriage, has spent most of his time in London, told Frank roundly, that unless he would bring Millicent back to Chewton, throw his pride to the winds, and live at the Hall as his forefathers had lived—acting, if he liked, for conscience’ sake, as bailiff or manager of the estate—he, Mr Keene, would at once sell the place, and invest the proceeds in something more profitable than a large house in which he could not live alone, or acres about which he cared nothing.
Millicent, who thinks Frank looking pale and fagged, and is quite sure that London air does not suit the baby, seconds her father’s appeals with eloquent looks; and Frank, who has formed an affectionate regard for Mr Keene, and who finds that, with such attractions at home, circuit-going is dreary work, certainly wavers in his determination; so it is more than likely that one day the bar will lose what might have been a distinguished ornament to it, and that Chewton Hall will once more have a proper master and mistress.